


get cape, wear cape, fly

by meatballsintheimpala



Category: Revolution (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Pre-series (Revolution), Season 2-5 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 21,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meatballsintheimpala/pseuds/meatballsintheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lady sings the blues

After the fiasco with the Winchester brothers in Duluth, Jo figures that she can’t really stay there a minute longer. The bar is a mess, bottles are broken and the window is smashed. And it’s not like she can _explain_ what happened without getting hauled by the cops—or locked away in a mental institution.

So, without further ado, she picks up what little stuff she has, empties the bar’s cash register, and with a scrambled _sorry_ on a dirty napkin, she catches the next bus out of the state.

She spends the first two hours of the trip crying silently into her jacket, because she was just beginning to like the place when those goddamn Winchesters marched in and destroyed her life— _again_. Duluth was a nice city, her employer was an old man with a heart of gold, and she had even established some sort of friendship with the other two barmaids that worked shifts at the bar along with her.

It was not an idyllic life, but it was _her_ life, and it was the first time she had built something for herself and by herself—all the way from the ground to the top.

So, she cries. She laments the loss of something that was entirely her own and was taken away from her so harshly. Because Jo Harvelle is, first and foremost, a girl. She might not like accepting that, and definitely doesn’t take kindly to others thinking of her as such, but at the end of the day, she’s just a runaway girl with high hopes and dreams of becoming a hunter, just like her daddy.

Jo cries for her mom, too. Not because Ellen’s all alone, running the Roadhouse and babysitting Ash, but because _she_ ’s all alone because of her. Because she doesn’t understand — she never did — her need to do this, to hunt. It’s the only thing she has left to remind her of her father, and Ellen just doesn’t understand that.

Because she has had her fill of Bill Harvelle back when he was still alive. She has had her chance to get to know him, to memorize him, to _love_ him. She doesn’t know what it’s like to want to do the things he did because that’s the only way she can feel close to him.

Ellen doesn’t understand, so Jo stops trying to explain.

Instead, she silently weeps for everything that goes wrong in her life when all she’s trying to do is right, as the miles pile up between her and Duluth.

It turns out that the bus goes to Chicago. That's good. Chicago is a bigass city you can easily lose yourself in and Jo just wants to get lost right now. On the same day she sets foot in Chicago, she drinks herself into a stupor and she fucks a stranger into oblivion, just because she can.

And because of Dean. Because it always comes down to Dean in her life. Dean, with the pretty eyes and full lips and the soul that's kinda rotting inside his body. Dean, who doesn't even have the decency to text her.

_Sam's okay. We got the demon. Take care._

She's not asking for a proclamation of undying love. Hell, she's not even asking for Dean's attention. She just wants his acknowledgement. That she's a person of her own. Not just Ellen's runaway daughter, Bill's little girl, the blonde who serves beers at the Roadhouse. She wants to be acknowledged as _Jo_.

But she isn't. Won't be, for a long time. So she drinks her sorrows away and fucks her heart to numbness and the morning after, she's already on another bus.

Two days later, Jo plants her feet firmly on the ground of Jasper, Indiana.


	2. welcome to never land

Jo doesn’t know what compelled her to get off the bus at Jasper exactly, but she decides to not dwell on it for too long.

At first sight, Jo doesn't like Jasper. It’s one of those backwater towns that have enough population for a newcomer to manage to blend in without too much trouble. Unfortunately, it’s also one of those towns where people mostly know each other and fucking smile at each other down the street and she hates it, because it's too much like home.

And home is Ellen and Ash and the Roadhouse and grumpy hunters and cheap beer and the dusty picture of a man in a cowboy hat holding a blonde five-year-old with pigtails and a front tooth gap in his arms. Home is not something she wants to be reminded of at the time being.

However, Jo is first and foremost stubborn as Hell (courtesy of Ellen’s genes), and she won't tuck tail and run before giving the town a chance, no matter how indifferent it might be to her, just because she's haunted by the ghosts of her past life.

She sends Ellen a postcard, scrambling a short note — _I'm okay, taking a trip east_ — behind a worn-out picture of the Statue of Liberty, knowing full well that her mom will see right through her scheme. But at this point, they've come to a silent agreement that the simple knowledge that Jo is still alive and kicking is enough.

And maybe Ash is tracking her phone, but that's debatable.

Sick of staying in dusty motels that have clearly not seen better days in like _ever_ , Jo rents an apartment, for quite possibly the first time in her life. Or—to be accurate—she rents a pathetic excuse of an apartment.

Jo is not a person of many possessions, but the apartment is hardly spacious enough to accommodate her and her few personal belongings. However, what it lacks in space, it makes up in coziness, and a huge veranda that Jo swears is twice the size of her abode. But she's always liked porches and balconies, enjoyed walking barefoot in the back porch of their house at the back of the Roadhouse, so she takes it with no second thought. Settling in has become second nature by now, and she's out looking for a job the very same evening.

Despite the fact that she's never been particularly lucky, having no rabbit's foot or a four-leaf clover handy and definitely having been born under a bad sign, Jo has never had trouble getting a job. It might be the fact that she looks like the innocent girl-next-door that bakes chocolate chipped cookies and helps the elderly cross the street, but she doesn’t care nearly enough to ponder on it.

Whatever the reason behind it, she finds a waitressing job at a local diner with practised ease, and from what little she can assume by a quick scanning of the place, the customers in Jasper tip generously. So, maybe, _maybe_ , she can make a living there.

Jo still hates Jasper, of course. But it's slowly starting to warm up to her. The Yankees obviously don't take well to newcomers disturbing the peace of their hometown, but she's kind of a Yankee herself — born and raised in east Nebraska — and she's been told that she makes a great impression to strangers. That much she can make out by the way the rest of the staff in the diner welcome her in their small family.

The first week passes by quickly, as Jo tries to adjust to the new balance in her life, and slowly begins to piece herself back together.

She sighs as she fastens her apron behind her back, plastering a bright smile on her face that’s not entirely fake. New town, new opportunities.

 _It could be fun,_ she thinks.

Then, Sebastian Monroe walks through the door.


	3. the days before you came

Bass returns to the States about three months before Jo decides to settle down in Jasper.

Between medicals and psych evaluations that find him guilty of post-traumatic stress disorder, the time to stroll around the town in inspection of what has changed in the thirty months of his absence is quite limited.

And he would be lying if he said that he wanted to, anyway.

He is mentally a step away from blowing his brains out, he can barely sleep, and his family's excessive concerns are not helping at all.

In all honesty, the only thing he needs at the moment is Miles. But the fact that his best friend is thousands of miles overseas, possibly in the middle of an operation that has the potential to have him sent back home in a matchbox, makes Bass' healing a tad more difficult and it's not very comforting.

Not after he lost his team in a suicidal bombing in Iraq not four months ago.

It's his sister Cynthia that ultimately manages to beat enough sense into him to get Bass out of the basement — where he spends most of his days brooding or beating the shit out of an old punching bag — and actually have him take a walk around town. The familiar surroundings might help in making him feel more at home, she says, and although Bass doubts anything can bring him even the slightest peace of mind right now, he humors her.

He has always had a soft spot for his little sister after all.

What Bass doesn't expect when he ventures out in town that morning, is meeting someone who can catch and hold his attention long enough for him to actually forget about the ghosts that've been haunting him for the better part of the past few months, even for a brief moment.

He is scarred and flawed and ten kinds of crazy; he shouldn't be able to get enchanted by the girl with the golden locks and wide eyes that seem to hold so many secrets.

He doesn't know her name — doesn't dare ask either; not on the first day that he takes a seat at the diner she works, anyway — but he can tell that she's not a local. She seems to be around his age, after all, and Jasper is not that big a town for people of the same age to not know each other.

Plus, she's really rude, and most of the girls from around here have been raised to be gentle and polite, with constant smiles plastered on their faces.

This girl's facial expression, on the other hand, seems to be stuck on a frown.

She pulls a nine-to-five shift at the diner, Bass finds out. Surprisingly, he finds himself sneaking out in the mornings for a piece of pumpkin pie at _Jessie's_ _Diner_ in an alarmingly increasing rate.

What surprises him even more, is that she brings out the person he was before Iraq. The smooth-talking, charming bastard that didn’t hesitate in chatting up a lady because his demons were dancing in the back.

Bass can tell that she’s not precisely happy about it.


	4. your face sounds familiar

The first time Jo lays eyes on Sebastian Monroe, all she does is compare him to Dean. Which is no news, really, since she does that comparison with every guy she meets unconsciously. That damn bastard is controlling her life despite being a thousand and some miles away.

But the brooding man that is watching her subtly from the corner of the diner is not Dean. Although he is as similar to the eldest Winchester as he is different.

He is younger, and not nearly as tall as either Dean or Sam, but that's expected and kinda cool, because the Winchesters are _scarily_ tall. And after her little heart-to-heart with not-Sam in Duluth, she prefers to steer clear of tall people's paths.

He has short dirty blond curls framing his face and despite the fact that they make him look even younger than he probably is, Jo thinks they make him look goddamn _stupid_. Although Darcy, the bubbly brunette that works shifts with her, says that he is a sergeant in the Marines and a strategist to boot, so his hair aren’t really something to validly judge his character by.

His eyes prove her wrong as well, because those twin pools of blue betray vibrancy and intelligence — and there’s something else there, too. Something darker that he manages to hide before she gets a clear glimpse. She doesn’t want to admit it, but Jo thinks that she might have seen the expertly masked darkness of his eyes while looking at her own reflection in the mirror.

However, despite his physical unlikeness to Dean, Jo can tell that he is as much of an asshole as the eldest Winchester the moment he opens his mouth to actually talk to her for the first time.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asks as she places his order on the table, and it’s the fifth time in a _week_ that he has sat in her section, so she might as well get over with whatever the fuck he has on his pea-sized brain.

"Yes,” he says, with a glimmer in his eye that she immediately decides she doesn’t like. Who the fuck says _yes_ , anyway? Freaking _Jasperians_ , that’s who. “How about your name?"

Jo has to bite her tongue from spitting out an insult that will definitely have her fired from the sole place she has ever kind of liked working at. Because apparently Jasper has a thing for polite young women who shut the fuck up when they’re getting hit on by dumbasses. "Sorry. That's not on the menu," she replies smugly, trying not to appear too proud of herself.

However, her victory is short-lived because Darcy picks out that exact moment to yell out her name, accompanied by a wave that translates into needing her in the back. Jo mentally curses her coworker to oblivion for this and swears that she will pummel her in good time.

She shifts her gaze towards the oh-so-irritating man and he has that awful goddamn smirk on his face that means she pretty much got owned in this round.

"Jolene?" he asks with genuine curiosity, and Jo doesn't bother to conceal her frown this time. Seriously, after the first ten times, it had gotten old.

"Just Jo," she snarls, drumming her fingers impatiently against the tray, because, honestly, this is no news to her. Random guys trying to make small talk and hit on her is no news because she grew up on the _Roadhouse_ for Christ's sake, and she has worked in a handful of bars and diners since she left.

He nods in acknowledgementand pauses to take a sip from his coffee. Jo takes this as her cue to saunter away, but she hasn’t even taken a step when his voice picks up again. "So, are you new around here?"

She allows herself a mental groan. _Seriously?_

"What gave me away? The completely unfamiliar face?"

"The impoliteness,” he corrects with a quirk on his lips that she bets has enchanted lots of unsuspected women in the past. A gesture that reminds her of Dean, but what else is new there.“Waitresses are usually well-mannered around here."

However, even though she may have lost the battle, Jo is not about to also lose the war by letting this asshole who’s too much like Dean (but not really) outsmart her. "Domesticated is what I'd call them."

And then he _grins_ , and Jo feels a sudden urge to strangle an innocent puppy.

"But not you, right?” He holds out his hand. “I'm Sebastian, by the way. Sebastian Monroe."

"Uh-huh," she replies with nil interest, completely disregarding the outstretched hand until he withdraws it. “Anything else?”

Sebastian shrugs noncommittally, shifting his gaze towards the world outside the windows. “No. That’s all.”

A dramatic pause, then.

“We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow.”

She’s positively certain that he has an inner laughing fit as she stomps away with frenzy.


	5. what you did in the dark

It turns out that tomorrow translates into every day afterwards. After the initial failure in catching Jo's attention, Bass becomes bolder.

A _lot_ bolder.

Be it because of stubborn pride or due to the inability of the male species to handle rejection, Bass decides to pour everything he has into courting Jo.

Part of him knows that he's not only doing it because she has stirred a need inside him that thirty months in Iraq (and many years as a marine) have left numb in their wake, but also because being interested in Jo helps in getting his mind off the monsters lurking in the shadows of his mind.

Unknowingly, she awakens the old Bass. The carefree, bright, and smiling boy that didn't lock himself in the basement to punch the living daylights out of an old punching bag. The old Bass doesn't suffer from post-traumatic stress and he doesn't hesitate in starting up conversation with a girl that catches his eye.

The old Bass is also kind of a stalker.

Well, not really. But he begins to stalk Jo for reasons he doesn’t entirely comprehend himself. Because she is a scary one, and she is definitely going to pummel him when she finds out.

And she _will_ find out. She strikes him as a rather observant kind of person.

But still, Bass is a strategist, and it has always been enthralling to him to device plan after plan in order to go by undetected. It was one of the reasons he enlisted in the first place.

However, while Bass is too busy devising plans to stalk her, Jo goes and makes it easier for him by getting a second job at a local bar. _Jessie’s Diner_ is a haven, but she only works part-time and the cash isn’t that abundant.

Of course, she knows that Bass is stalking her since day one. Being a hunter, albeit a novice at that, has its perks. And Bass isn’t even being subtle about his stalking. Once he catches whiff of her new job, Jo is unsurprised to find him occupying a stool at the edge of the bar.

He's all shit-eating grins and appreciative looks. Even when she tries her best to ignore him and hands him his trademark beer with a look of utter contempt directed his way, he still grins and tips the bottle towards her in a silent toast before gulping the liquid down.

And it's driving her mad. Because he is actively _stalking_ her and being incessantly nice to her twenty-four-seven, when all she wants is to be left alone and sulk about her fucked up life in solitude.

But like many things in Jo’s life, it doesn’t go as planned. For Bass keeps showing up at the diner or the bar on a daily basis, and even though she doesn’t want to deal with him _ever_ , she fucking has to get used to him at some point.

And thus, one day, she finally decides that beating around the bush and trying to ignore the rash isn’t gonna make it go away. If it’s even possible, Bass actually seems _amused_ by her constant efforts to ignore him.

"So, is this stalking?" Jo asks while she sets what feels like that week’s hundredth bottle in front of him.

Bass grins boyishly at her, taking a swig of his beer. "Can't a guy go out for a beer without having an ulterior motive?"

Jo tilts her head to the right, giving him that look that means she's about to call his bluff. "You know, I might have actually believed that, if this wasn't the sixth time you came into my bar in two weeks."

“Maybe I just like the place.”

“Or maybe you’re stalking me.”

His smile only widens and Jo feels a vein pop on her forehead. “One would think you _want_ me to be stalking you.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she countered. “Just giving you a heads up. The last guy who decided it was a good idea to stalk me, didn’t get the chance to blabber about it.”

“Good thing I’m not the gossiping type then.”

She pretends not to notice his quiet chuckle when she breaks a glass in frustration.


	6. stranger by the minute

Although unwillingly on Jo’s part, Bass becomes a part of her daily routine.

He shows up at the bar almost on a daily basis, bearing charming smiles and witty remarks, and willing to waste away his hard-earned money on liquor just to have a chance to talk to her.

He knows he's getting on her nerves badly, but watching her squirm is simply so much fun that he simply cannot back away.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that Jo is the first woman in a very long time that hasn't succumbed to his meticulous flirting and giggled stupidly at his advances. Not that Bass is avert to women who react as such, but Jo's blatant rejection and snarky comebacks are a welcome change in his life. Especially after Iraq.

Even though three weeks have already flown by since the day of their first official encounter, Bass can’t really say that he knows much about Jo. Or anything at all, really. Miles used to say that barmaids are the easiest people to chat up, yet for all his past conquests and skills on the matter, Bass finds himself unable to crack through Jo’s shell. Which is kind of amusing, because the way she shields herself makes him think that whatever she hides under all those protective layers of hers is definitely worth his strain.

However, some days Bass’ patience runs thin, and then his old insecurities and fears resurface, and he drinks himself into a stupor, suddenly not giving a single fuck about the impression he gives her.

It’s not like she is rather fond of him, anyway.

It’s on those days that Bass finds himself at the _Sandpiper_ after closing time, watching as Jo wipes the glasses clean as if she’s been doing it her whole life.

“You think you’re not good enough for me,” Bass tells her, knowing full well that he’s going to regret it later. But at that moment, he’s too drunk and too tired of running from his demons to care.

“Do I, now?” Jo replies, not even bothering to feign interest.

“I mean, I don’t blame you. I’m exceptional, after all. But I don’t want you feeling concerned about the possibility that I might deserve better.”

"Actually, I'm highly concerned about your ability to hold your liquor," she says and her tongue drags across her teeth in a way that he shouldn't notice, but he does.

Bass props his elbow on the bar, resting his head against his fist because he doesn't quite trust himself not to fall over his barstool and make a fool of himself in front of Jo. Although she already thinks he's kind of an idiot, but there's no reason to give her actual evidence of it.

"Nah," he slurs, and he knows, somewhere deep inside his intoxicated brain, that he should have gone home about three drinks ago. "I'm a soldier. I can take anything you dish out on me."

"You know I can outdrink you without even trying, right?" Jo asks casually, and it's actually more of a statement, but Bass nods in response anyway.

"Yep." He has seen her have drinks with Darcy, and he recalls being rather impressed at how much a person of her size can drink without passing out.

And he might be drunk enough to be delusional, but he swears that the chuckle she allows herself at that point is not just a mocking one.

"Okay, big guy. I think it's time you went home."

"Uh-huh."

Jo raises an eyebrow. "You think you can make it?"

Bass lets out a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously enough like 'nope', before passing out on top of the bar. Jo lets out a deep sigh.

This job never gets boring.


	7. delicate cruelties

She takes Bass back to her apartment because she's got absolutely no idea where he lives, and she doesn't think that they've reached that point in whatever it is that they have where she can snoop around his phone in search for a friend to take him home.

At this point, she can't even tell if the guy has any friends at all.

She drops him off on her bed, because even though she might be a bitch to him sometimes, he is about to experience a hangover of great proportions, and she can at least offer him a good night's sleep to help with that. Besides, he couldn't fit in her couch even if he tried.

Jo grabs a spare blanket and makes herself comfortable in the living room, ignoring the fact that she is housing the man who has been stalking her for the past few weeks. Clearly, her mom should have taught her better. But then again, she never really did pay attention to Ellen’s lectures.

The next morning finds Bass clinging to her toilet seat for life and emptying his guts in a professional fashion. It takes all in Jo not to laugh at his self-inflicted misery. She can be kind of a bad person at times.

"Still thinking you can take on anything I dish out, soldier?"

Bass growls with half a heart as he hurls again, and Jo leaves her spot against the doorframe to make the man Ellen's great antidote for raging hangovers. It's not pretty, and it's definitely not tasty — in fact, it tastes like horse shit — but it's effective, and after puking for the better half of the morning, she thinks bad taste is the least of Bass' worries at the moment.

He still has the nerve to notice it, though.

"God," he spits, putting a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting again. "This is awful."

"And a lifesaver. Drink up; it'll help with the hangover."

"What's in this?" Bass asks, taking another gulp and managing to simply squint his eyes at its sour taste.

"Trust me, you don't wanna know." She plops down on her ugly green armchair across from him, crossing her arms and pining him to his seat with her eyes. "So. Is this your usual way of approaching a girl? Stalking her, getting drunk off your ass in the bar she works, puking your guts out in her place—I can go all day with this."

Bass winces as he sets his now empty mug on the coffee table. "Yeah, I got the picture. I've been nothing short of an asshole to you lately."

"Try since the day you met me," she replies sassily and he raises his hands in defence.

"Alright. I may have taken the wrong approach with this. I'm not really good at this stuff. Catching a girl's eye. Making her stick around for more than just a good laid."

She snorts in disbelief. "Your excessive faith in your abilities is really amusing."

"My point is, I kind of like you. That's why I've been making a fool of myself in the past few weeks."

At this point, Jo can't think of any other way to reply than laughing at him. "That's gotta be the oldest trick in the book. Why do you boys think it has even the slightest chance of working?"

"Man pride?" he asks sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head and he looks so much like Sam at that moment, all puppy-eyed and innocent-looking that Jo has to shake the imagine out of her head rather violently. Thank God she's not the one with the hangover.

"Well, whatever it is you're doing, stop it. Because I don't kinda like you, and I'm not looking for a good laid," she tells him honestly. There is a light that seems to die in his eyes at that proclamation, but she sees it swiftly come back on a second later, and dare she say that it looks even _brighter_ than before. Goddamn men and their fucking challenges.

"So, you're not gonna give me even half a chance?"

"Not a quarter of it." But deep inside, as she looks into those oddly vibrant eyes, she knows that she already is.

"That's good," the dumb bastard says, squinting his eyes against the sun that's slipping through her drawn curtains and biting back a smile that no hangover person should be capable of cracking. "'Cause I'm gonna earn it."

Jo mentally curses herself into oblivion for shooting a challenging smirk his way.


	8. divide & conquer

In the end, Jo gives Sebastian a chance because _fuck you very much, Dean._ She is tired of having an absent asshole control her life from miles away and, to be frank, Sebastian’s pretty face makes the decision a good forty percent easier to make.

(Part of it is also because she just wants him to shut up about it.)

She’s already regretting her decision, however, when Sebastian comes a knockin’ before the sun has risen to take her on a trip to a nearby lake.

At least he has the courtesy to bring her breakfast. Which happens to be pancakes he made by himself, but he doesn’t tell her that until _much_ later in what they’ll eventually come to call a relationship.

The drive to Lake Monroe — the _nerve_ of this man — takes about an hour and a half, and Jo is too tired to do anything but squish her face against the passenger door and sleep it off.

When they finally arrive at their destination, it turns out that he has an entire tour planned out for her, and even though she knows she should be touched by his thoughtfulness, Jo is just really, _really_ tired.

Working all morning at the diner, and then all evening at the bar, combined with pulling an all-nighter researching for a case in a nearby town have left her drained and exhausted, and honestly, all she wants is an uninterrupted twelve-hour sleep.

(But of course, her favorite stalker already knew that it was her day off, and decided to wake her up in that godforsaken hour to visit a fucking _lake_ of all places. God damn it, Bass.)

The only thing Jo remembers from that morning escapade is latching onto Bass' (interestingly built) bicep and letting him lull her into sleep with his deep voice as he recited the stories surrounding Lake Monroe, while she rested her head against his shoulder. If sleep walking is an art, then Jo is Leonardo Da-fucking-Vinci.

She suspects that Bass enjoyed it though. Sometimes he gives her the idea that simply being in her general proximity is enough to make him happy. Jo swears that his sole purpose in life is to creep her out, honestly.

Later, she wakes up in the back of his car with a blanket draped over her and the low hum of Guns 'n' Roses pouring from the radio, with no actual memory of when she fell asleep completely. Her eyes are heavy, but she forces them up to watch the short curls on his head dance on the breeze that comes through his open window.

This whole situation is making her feel kind of shitty. Because Bass has been nothing but nice to her since the very beginning, and she’s been nothing but a bitch to him. Sure, his stalking habits left no room for a reaction of any other kind, but generally he’s been good to her. And he doesn’t deserve being bitched at because _she_ can’t find it her heart to even remotely trust another man after Dean Winchester.

She grits her teeth and holds back a few tears that threaten to spill. _Fuck you, Dean,_ she thinks for the hundredth time that month, choosing once again to drop the blame entirely on the Winchester asshole. Because she can’t be possibly held at fault for having her trust (and heart) thrown on the ground and stomped on aggressively, can she?

Her mind is a rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions and she’s just so tired of dealing with the same shit over and over again, and not being able to let go.

Jo bites back a snort as Bass drums his fingers on the steering wheel, because _this_ — whatever is happening right now — is a good thing, and good things don't happen, definitely not to her. That’s the biggest truth this life has taught her.

But she's willing to push that thought in the back of her mind for the time being, because Bass has begun to murmur the words of _Cats in the Cradle_ under his breath, and her sleep-hazed brain thinks that he has a very beautiful voice.

His curls are still stupid, though.


	9. you'll rebel to anything

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jo hisses in pain as she slams the door of her truck, leaning momentarily against it for support.

It had been a very rough weekend. After returning from her trip with Bass, she had immediately taken off towards a town at the southwest border of Indiana, where some pretty nasty deaths had been occurring for the past few weeks. However, what began as a simple poltergeist case had quickly escalated into a wild witch-hunt that had left Jo with a handful of bruises, a cracked rib, a gash in her side and a bruised ego.

(Honestly, her attempts at hunting hadn’t been going well lately.)

Naturally, after such a wild ride, all she had wanted was to get home, stitch herself up, down a couple of pills and sleep off the rest of the day. But like everything else in Jo’s life, that plan went to Hell.

“Where the hell were you?” Bass asks, flailing his arms as he vacates his spot on her doorstep. “I’ve been looking for you all over town. The lady downstairs said she hasn’t seen you in days.”

He pauses when he finally takes in her dirty hair and bruised lip, the way she is nursing her right side. And maybe, _maybe_ the bloodstain on her shirt.

“Shit, Jo, you’re _bleeding_. What happened?” He rushes over to her side, hurrying to support her, and for some reason she’s too damn glad he’s there, eager to help her and freaking _waiting on her_ , that she seems to lose her voice. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Her ears perk up at that and she pushes at his arm with a little more force than she may have intended. She squints her eyes in pain when she feels her wound stretch. “No. I’m not going to the hospital.”

Bass stares dumbfounded as she climbs the stairs to her apartment, all the while gripping the wall like a lifeline. “What the hell are you talking about? You need medical attention.”

Jo pushes the door open, crossing the room as quickly as she can and plopping down on the couch carefully. She lets out a breath and fishes a first aid kit from under the coffee table, all the while ignoring Bass’ attempts to reason with her. “I need stitches, not a goddamn neurosurgeon. I can— _fuck_ ,” she hisses, trying (and failing) to sterilize the needle.

Bass seems to have an epiphany at that, because he stops arguing and takes a seat next to her, close enough so that he can pry the sewing needle from her fingers. “No, you _can’t_. Lift your shirt. I’ll do it.”

Jo is not the kind of girl that loses her words when she talks to a guy. She’s not a school girl that blushes and giggles around boys—except maybe when that boy is Dean Winchester. But when Bass gives her that command, she can’t help but comply in silence. And it’s the first time Bass manages to get such a reaction out of her, so she can’t help but wonder why he’s not smirking in triumph.

“Quit staring. I spent thirty months in Iraq, I know how to sew a goddamn scratch.”

And there is her answer. It’s in his voice, in the determined but concerned look in his eyes. He’s _worried_ about her.

So she quietly complies and loses the shirt. She watches his forehead wrinkle in concentration while he fixes her up and scolds herself each time she hisses in pain because _she’s a hunter goddamn it._ It should take more than a gash in her belly to crack her up. She should be tougher than that.

Except she’s not. She’s not a Winchester. She hasn’t been a hunter for years. Doesn’t know how to take a punch and how to land so that she doesn’t sustain major damages. She’s not her mom and she’s not her dad and everything sucks so much.

She’s just really grateful that Bass is there and pissed at her — something that’s really a first for him — because if things were any different, she’d be bawling by now. And she’s really not in the mood for yet _another_ pity party with herself.

Bass taps a bandage over her now stitched wound and replaces everything back in the kit, all the while pining her with his eyes. Jo props her elbow against the armrest and casually leans her head in her palm, thinking that she should really down some painkillers if she wants to get any sleep tonight. And also that she shouldn’t be enjoying this situation as much as she does.

“So, are you gonna tell me what happened or are we gonna have to play twenty questions?”

Jo raises an eyebrow at that, because his concern-fueled bitchiness is really amusing—and a tad touching. “We’re not gonna do either, ‘cause it’s none of your business.”

“None of my business, really? You come back like that and I don’t get to ask what happened?”

She vaguely glances down to check if her bra is still in working order, not that he hasn’t gotten an eyeful already. “Yeah. It’s just some stuff I do—let it go.”

“Let it—you have got to be kidding me.” Bass lets out a long breath to calm himself, and if they were cartoons, there would definitely be smoke coming out of his ears as well. “Not even a small hint?” he asks a moment later, lowering his head and raising his eyes so that he looks like a puppy.

Jo laughs half-heartedly. “Drop it, Bass.”

And he does, for a good four minutes. "Will you _ever_ tell me about it?"

"Trust me, Bass, you don't wanna know," Jo tells him and begrudgingly raises herself to a stand because she really needs those painkillers now. And something to put in her stomach. Two days of nonstop chasing after an elusive witch didn’t exactly give her a chance to grab a bite.

"Why not?” Bass asks in return, looking a bit confused by her cryptic behavior. “You're not a serial killer, are you?"

She smiles cryptically and leans over to brush her lips against his cheek in something that he might interpret as a kiss. "Why don't you just let the mystery add to the appeal?" she whispers against his ear before pulling back and limping towards the kitchen to make herself a bloody sandwich.

Bass grins brightly at the moment they just shared, absently reaching up to brush his fingers against the skin that was blessed with a touch of her lips. A moment later, his smile drops and he anxiously follows after her.

"That's a no, right?"


	10. serving tragedies on a silver platter

She finds out about the Roadhouse from the headlines: FIRE CLAIMS LOCAL SALOON.

Those news wouldn’t normally incite such a feeling of horror inside her, but this is _The Nebraskan Reporter_ she’s skimming through and she can _see_ the burnt out sign that reads _Harvelle’s Roadhouse_ in the back of the cheap picture.

Bass is staring at her in both confusion and incredulity as her fingers claw at her cell phone with inhuman speed, but Jo is too focused on praying for her mom’s voice to pick up on the other end of the line to give a damn.

She already knows exactly what she’s going to tell her mom when she sees her again, how tight she’s going to hug her, how she’s going to say she’s sorry for being so stupid and for running away and leaving her alone. But the phone keeps ringing and every ring breaks her heart a little bit more, the fear that there might not  _be_  a next time quickly settling in.

When Ellen _does_ pick up, it takes all in Jo not to allow streams of tears flow, because for one, Bass is standing _right there_ and the last thing she needs is for him to see her as a schoolgirl as well, and also because she doesn’t want her mom to start worrying about her when _she’s_ the one who’s been through Hell in last twenty-four hours.

It turns out that Ellen is fine — and Jo has the goddamn pretzels that were always running out to thank for that — but Ash isn’t. The lump in her throat get bigger as she listens to her mother narrating what happened, and Ellen is not even midway through the story when Jo cuts her off and asks for a location.

Ten seconds later, she hangs up and turns to Bass, with an expression more serious than he has ever seen her look. “I need your car,” she says and thinks he must be a special kind of stupid for saying yes without even asking for details. But she doesn’t have time to ponder on Bass when her mom is at Bobby’s and Ash is dead and everything is getting really blurry around the edges.

Jo reaches Sioux Falls ten hours later, having broken every speed limit from Indiana to South Dakota. She clings to her mom like a lifeline and spends three hours crying in her arms because the loss only became palpable when she didn’t find Ash littering Bobby’s kitchen and drinking away his beer.

She switches off her phone for the next few days and she knows that Bass will be flipping. Not because she has his car, but due to the fact that she might actually be in danger or in trouble. The way she hurried out like a bat out of Hell sure gave his imagination quite a handful to work with.

But she can't care about a stranger that might be starting to become something else when the Roadhouse is in ashes and all that's left of Ash is a couple of Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyls that she had stocked away in her mom's truck in order to freak the genius out a few months ago.

Jo takes her time to grieve in Bobby Singer's house, and she thinks that Bass might actually understand because, when she flips on her phone again, she sees that he only left two missed calls and a text to call him if she runs into any trouble. She briefly smiles at his concerned words before flipping it off again and going back to her mom.

The Winchesters don't show up for as long as she's there, although she is almost certain that a particular Chevy passes her by when she stops for a gas fill. She supposes it’s better this way for all of them. After Duluth and the fight at the Devil’s Gate that she was so graciously left out of, she doesn’t quite know how to deal with either of the Winchester boys.

(Nobody mentions The Deal, and she won't find out only until it's already too late to do something about it. And it won't matter anyway, because everything will be said and done and Dean will be already rotting away in Hell.)

When the wound of Ash’s loss begins to close — although it will never truly heal — Jo hugs Bobby goodbye and slips inside her truck with a heavy heart. The road to Jasper is long and quiet, but her mom is riding shotgun, and she really can’t ask for anything else at this point.

“Where to, sweetie?” Ellen asks, and her smile will always have a hint of bitterness from now on. Jo keeps her eyes on the rising sun and puts the car into gear.

“Home.”


	11. personal jesus

When Jo departs, Bass does everything in his power to refrain from reversing back into stalker mode and bombarding her with calls and texts.

She doesn’t tell him much before driving off, just that something’s wrong and it has to do with her mother. When his calls go straight to voicemail, Bass doesn’t know what to assume. He hopes that she’s alright, that she didn’t do anything stupid and that it was just a false alarm, but deep down, he knows that the possibility of Jo getting hurt is not that low—given her track record and all.

Miles is a godsend at that point. He arrives in Jasper when no one’s expecting him and it turns out that he’s there to stay. No more journeying across the globe to fight a war that isn’t theirs but is eager to tear them apart and swallow them down.

They go out for beers that very night, after having the customary dinner with their families. The atmosphere between the Mathesons isn’t tense for the first time in a very long while, and Bass supposes that they have finally managed to work through the things that kept tearing them apart at the past.

Although one look between Rachel and Miles tells him that the affair between them is far from being over. Bass doesn’t comment on it, though, because he’s got bigger things on his plate at the moment and also because they have dueled on it so many times in the past that it’s better to just not know anymore.

So Bass tells him about Jo. It takes him hours, but he tells Miles everything about the woman that has grown on him to the point that he’s not willing to live without her. He tells him about the first day he saw her, about their first conversation and their first date, about how she kept turning him down but never seemed to deter him completely.

He tells Miles everything there is to know, and then some more, because he is the only confidante he has ever had, and talking to Miles feels almost as liberating as being with Jo.

Miles pays close attention to his childhood friend, almost expecting him to stop mid-sentence and say that he’s just messing with him. He is wary of Jo, if not a little bit jealous, even without actually knowing her. It's the first time that Bass shows so much enthusiasm in something — or someone — that is completely unrelated to Miles and it’s honestly _odd_.

Miles knows that Bass is not an overly enthusiastic person. In a way, he has always lived in Miles’ shadow — and never seemed to be bothered by it — and has grown to be wary of everything and everyone in his general vicinity. But this excitement towards Jo, even when she isn’t openly embracing him as a lover or even a friend, is something completely new and unexpected.

And even though it kind of hurts Miles to know that he might not be number one in Bass’ life anymore, he is truly happy that his friend has finally found someone to channel his feelings towards. Because Bass is, for all intents and purposes, a supernova of emotions, a man with a giant heart with an endless supply of love that he has never quite been able to pour into anything.

And Miles is really, honestly glad that he has found Jo.

"I'll be honest with you, man,” Miles says, nourishing the sixth beer for the evening. “Ever since we've come back, you've changed. And it feels like I'm losing you. And I'll be damned if I let that happen. You're my _brother_ , Bass. And I'll always have your back. But this girl—Jo—I really think she's good for you, man.”

Bass smiles at that, because it’s not like Miles to pour his thoughts and feelings out like this. In Bass' life, everything has always been about Miles. Everything Miles did, he did. Everything Miles had, he wanted. For once, Bass wants something for himself. Not just Miles' leftovers. Something to call entirely his own. And for the first time, Miles sees and understands that.

“She is,” Bass offers plainly, and his voice betrays everything he doesn’t put into words.

Miles nods in agreement. “I mean, look at you. I've never seen you happier. And I know for a fact that she's only been busting your balls so far, but she's changed you. She helps you get better. And I'm gonna buy her a beer for that."

And even though he still hasn’t had news from Jo by that time, Bass laughs wholeheartedly and clings his beer against Miles’. Because deep down, he knows that she’ll come back to him.

And a week later, she does.


	12. heaven can't wait

Introducing Bass to Ellen is not on Jo's immediate plans. But, of course, it happens.

When they finally return from Bobby's, Jo takes extra care not to mention or talk to Bass whenever Ellen is present. Because she knows her mom, and giving her food for hope that she's going to settle down with a good man who's not a hunter is a definite no-no.

Not that she's planning to settle down with Bass, no. Jo Harvelle is not the domestic kind and she'll be damned if she starts thinking like a schoolgirl. She refuses to think of Bass as anything other than her stalker slash might-be-friend. She's not about to give any other label to a man she hasn't even kissed yet.

(Dean still has no label, other than The Asshole, of course.)

However, as luck would have it, Bass shows up a few days after her return to Jasper, being the good stalker he is. Jo tries to usher him out and away from Ellen's sight, but the eldest Harvelle seems genuinely enthralled.

For some reason that Jo isn't sure she gets, Ellen seems to like him. While Jo was growing up, her mother didn't have the greatest comments to offer about her choice in boyfriends. And given the latest of Jo's mishaps, she supposes that Bass is a catch.

Except that he's  _not_  her fucking boyfriend and she wishes that Ellen would stop treating him as such.

Ellen spends two weeks in Jasper, helping Jo put her new life in order, and at the same time trying to create a new one for herself. Although Jo initially insists that she stay with her, they both know that they're already treading on very thin ice. Their relationship is strained, now more so than ever, what with the events of the past few weeks hanging over their heads menacingly.

The two weeks fly by without either of them realizing, and by the time Ellen has to leave, Jo is a hand's breadth away from giving everything up and following her. She has never been her mom's biggest fan, that much is known. Ellen is always collected, has her head in the game and wants to protect her loved ones from the world outside. Whereas Jo is rambunctious, reckless and chases after danger wherever she goes. But they love each other regardless, and Jo is feeling kind of guilty letting her mom go off on her own after everything she's been through.

Still, Ellen leaves and it's the second time Jo finds herself crying in the same month and it fucking sucks.

Everything is kind of bleak after that. Jo doesn't feel like working or hunting or doing anything in particular. It feels like the empty nest syndrome, only in reverse. It takes great effort on Bass' part to manage to drag her out of the house, which includes showing up at her apartment up to thrice a day, spamming her voicemail etcetera.

He takes her dancing, of all places, insisting that she needs to get it—whatever the hell  _it_  is—out her system and go back to being her charming self. Which translates into being a total bitch, at least towards him, but Bass leaves such things unspoken because he's adorable like that.

She dances the night away, thankful that Bass is gentlemanly enough not to grind against her as they dance in the crowded club, all the while trying to make her brain shut up and black out. In the end, all she manages is to delve even further into the slime that is her mother, and Dean, and the hunter life that has already taken so much away from her.

This comes as no surprise either. After the Roadhouse fire, Ash's death and the Devil's Gate, she's not really sure what to believe in anymore. Her mom has already found a dusty bar in east Nebraska that she will probably make a home out of and Jos still struggling to figure out whether Jasper deserves to be her base, the place that will always take her back after a bloody hunt or a case gone wrong.

She thinks about Dean and how he supported her mother's decision not to include her in the big fight, when it was crystal clear that they were in dire need of help. She knows that Dean doesn't want her in this life, in this line of work, but she never thought that he would just dismiss her as a hunter all together, especially when they needed her. And she feels so numb, upon that realization, because she goddamn doesn't deserve this kind of shit, especially from Dean.

And then there's Bass, who's caring and compassionate and perfect, and Jo doesn't know what to do with that. Bass is the kind of person who wouldn't normally give a shit about her, but  _he does,_ and that confuses her so much. And because she's so tired of thinking about all this, about Ellen and Dean and Bass—who's been making not-so-subtle attempts to insinuate that he kind of likes her since the fucking start—Jo grabs the collar of his jacket and slams her lips on his.

It's not a romantic gesture, and it's certainly not tender. It's more like a battle that Jo's determined to win and Bass doesn't even know he's a part of. It's all angry teeth and slippery lips and quite possibly the worst kiss either of them has ever had. And it serves Jo's purpose of proving that they shouldn't be anything other than friends pretty damn well.

Only Bass doesn't see it that way. For when they pull apart, he detaches her hands from his collar and clasps them together behind his neck, while his own come down to encircle her waist and pull her against him. And then he dives in and takes her lips in an actual kiss.

And Jo's world explodes.

There's something different about the way Bass kisses her. Something new and unexpected and very frightening. These feelings that stir in her gut as Bass' lips smoothly slide against hers are scary as fuck. Jo's not used to having guys kiss her with the passion of a man dying of thirst. And Bass is pouring so much into this single kiss that she feels horrified of the possibilities it contains.

Jo pushes away from him abruptly, staring at him through uneven breaths and hazy vision. Her body gets into gear without her mind's agreement and she sprints away from him before he can react.

She isn't sure if she's glad that he doesn't follow her this time.


	13. take what you can

The ambivalent kiss keeps Jo up for quite a few nights afterwards.

She stays up thinking about Bass and the feeling of his lips against hers, and how she never got to have that with Dean. Although the person she just shared this experience with is Bass, her mind is pretty much still stuck on Dean. It’s not like she’s doing it on purpose, either. It’s sort of like a reflex — everything just naturally orbits around Dean Winchester. Which doesn’t even make sense, because Dean is an undeserving asshole who picked at her seams and tore her apart, all the while masking his distaste with concern.

He doesn’t deserve even a fragment of her thoughts, especially since the phone has yet to ring, so she shuts him out of her head and tries to focus on something other than the mess that is her love life — or her life in general.

She doesn’t run into Bass for a handful of days afterwards. He seems to be giving her time — and space. A gesture she's not really accustomed to, especially from Mr. Clings-to-You-Twenty-Four-Seven. It's an exhibition of maturity that she wouldn't have expected from him, though it is well-appreciated.

However, it still doesn’t do much to help her reach a decision. Not that she’s actually sure that there _is_ a decision to be made. It’s not like she can reject Bass and go gallivanting the country looking for Dean. And she can’t encourage Bass’ advances either, because this is too soon and too complicated and—maybe it’s too good to be true, too. Ever since she left the Roadhouse, she has developed an extraordinary suspicion towards everything and everyone, so it’s kind of hard to accept that Bass’ affections are completely sincere.

Or maybe she’s just too scared to allow herself to believe that a person might harbor genuine feelings for her. Maybe she feels that she’s not good enough to deserve them.

Jo stays mad at Bass for many days for putting her through this excruciating train of thoughts. She came to Jasper in order to relieve herself from the drama of her previous life, not to create a soap opera of epic proportions.

She goes about with her life like nothing is wrong nevertheless. She works her shifts and chats with Darcy and generally tries not to add any unnecessary drama in her already turbulent life. She occupies herself with research about a ghoul case in Mississippi and that’s really all that’s going through her head when Bass finally makes an appearance, approximately six days later.

He merely throws a _hey_ her way and joins a group of thirty-somethings at the back of the bar. Jo has seen them a couple of times in the bar, but she didn’t know Bass knew them, let alone hang out with them. To be frank, she thought the man didn’t have any friends at all.

The night passes quickly, serving drinks and having small talk with various customers, and it’s maybe around two in the morning that she finds a few minutes to step out on the porch and allow herself a moment to relax. Commotion rises up a few moments later and she sees Bass’ group leave, chatting merrily and clapping each other on the back as they head down their respective streets.

Jo is leaning wearily against the rotting railing of the bar, sipping her beer nonchalantly, when a familiar voice quips up from behind her and she sighs.

“You look like shit,” Bass says and leans against the wall, putting a few feet between them.

“I feel like it, too.”

He doesn’t have anything else to say, Jo figures from the silence that follows. She gulps down the last drops of beer and twirls the bottle between her hands. “About the other day…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jo,” he cuts off before she can finish her sentence, and Jo turns around to look at him, kind of annoyed at his behavior.

“I want to. It wasn’t cool, what I did. I mean—” She paused, running her tongue over her front teeth, testing the words inside her mouth. “You’ve been good to me, Bass. More than anyone has in quite a while. And I don’t want you to get any wrong ideas about this. It was just… I had a lot in my mind and I just slipped. We should forget about what happened and get on with our lives.”

She looks at him then and she swears that she can see hurt in his crystal blue eyes. “Whoa, we can’t just do that.”

Something inside her suddenly snaps at that. Jo is not the kind of person who takes orders from others and she definitely doesn’t appreciate others telling her what she can or cannot do. Bass is no exception to that. “The fuck we can’t,” she growls out.

Bass halts for a moment, seemingly forgetting the argument he was about to make, before he furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Why are you always so angry?” he asks and it catches her off guard. “We've known each other for a few months and I can't remember a time when you weren't mad at this thing or the other. You shouldn't be angry all the time."

She considers that for a moment, because he's kind of right. Ever since the incident in Duluth, she has always been on edge, ready to snap at whatever doesn't sit right with her. It’s not like she’s doing it on purpose, though. It’s another reflex of hers — one of the gifts this life has presented her with. To be a grumpy, distrusting bitch that’s always going on about this thing or the other, acting like nothing’s ever good enough. And she’s okay with it, really. It comes with the territory of being a hunter. But when it's Bass who voices it, as a concern more than a complain, it stings the wrong way.

Jo lets out a long breath and covers her face with her hands. "I just don't wanna get hurt," she says at last, surprised by the sincerity in her voice.

Bass nods knowingly, before cautiously laying a hand upon her shoulder, hoping that she won't see it as a threat. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Jo."

She shakes her head — but doesn't make any move to remove his hand — and laughs bitterly. "Yeah, well, that's what everyone always says. _'I'm not gonna hurt you'_. But if that was even in the slightest bit true, then I wouldn't have ended up in fucking Jasper. If no one ever hurt us, I'd still have my life in order."

"So what are you gonna do?” Bass cuts in, removing his hand. “Build a wall and retreat behind it? Keep everyone out for the rest of your life and pretend it's healthy? Because I've been there, Jo. And it's not healthy, for neither you nor the people who care about you. Trust me, whatever it is that's holding you down, you've got to let it go. Because if you don't, it's gonna drag you so far down that you won't be able to get up again."

"I don't expect you to understand, Bass," she breathes out. She doesn’t know how they got into this conversation in the first place, but she definitely knows that she doesn’t want to be having it—never and with no one.

"You shouldn't. But I _do_. See, I've been where you are,” he says and that earns her attention. Because Bass is kind of a weird guy, but she never expected him to be the messed up kind of weird guy. “I know what it's like having to leave everything behind and just run away. I've _done_ it. And it didn't do me any good, because whatever it was I was running from, I was carrying it with me the whole time.”

“How—” Jo begins, but he shakes his head, indicating that there’s more to what he has to say, so she gets quiet.

“I was fucked up, I probably still am. But...” He pauses, going silent for a moment, and Jo studies the contours of his face closer than she ever has before. “Ever since I met you, I tried to look at it from a different perspective. I stopped running. And I know you think I'm trying to get in your pants, but I'm not. Jo, whatever your feelings for me, if there are any, it doesn't change the fact that I care about you. And if all you need right now is a friend, a hand to hold through all this, then I'm in. I'm not asking for anything you're not willing to give. I know you're not ready to open up yourself—that's fine, I'm not either. But you've got to realize that, at some point, you're gonna have to. Otherwise, it'll just poison you."

But Jo knows all of this already. She has seen it. She has seen Dean bottle everything up and keep the lid so shut that nothing can ever escape. She has seen her mom hold back things her whole life, even though it pains her inside. She has seen all of this, knows what it’s like to keep it all inside because it’s the third rule in the hunter’s playbook. And she knows exactly how unhealthy it is but it's just so hard to let go, when you’ve been taught to hold on with teeth and claws your entire life. Because sometimes, letting go can destroy you.

"So, I gotta ask you,” Bass tells her, and Jo finds it hard to look away this time. “What are you really afraid of? Giving _me_ a chance, or yourself?"

These words haunt her for a very long time. They follow her around at work, at home, when she's walking to the grocery store. Through everything, they stick to the back of her mind and she rolls them around in her tongue unconsciously. They are with her when, three years later, she is lying in a pool of her own blood, her guts being held inside her body by an ace bandage. They ring inside her mind all the time, making her wonder if it was her that actually had trouble accepting herself, and recognizing that she can be something more, and not everyone else.

They are ringing inside her mind as she closes up the bar and while she walks home with Bass on her side, treading quietly through the empty streets of their small town. They are both silent, lost in their respective thoughts and Bass only opens his mouth when she’s climbing the stairs to her apartment, too hazy to even mutter goodnight to him.

"You're a good thing, Jo," he says. "Don't let yourself forget that."

And as he vanishes into the dark, she can't help but wish that he believed that about himself, too.


	14. your unpleasant family

Although Jo is not entirely certain as to where they left things between them That Night (and yes, capitalization becomes a thing thereafter), Bass seems to have a very strong idea, because he shows up at the diner a couple of days later, and declares that they'll be meeting Miles for beers later that evening.

She doesn’t want to. She really, _really_ doesn’t. It serves no purpose whatsoever. You’re supposed to meet someone’s family — and from what she has gathered, Miles is something like a brother to Bass — when _you_ are someone important in their lives. You don’t bring a one-night-stand home for dinner to meet your parents. You don’t introduce the random person you coincidentally jog with to your friends. Those sort of associations are reserved for people you have significant, defined relationships with. And Jo has yet to figure out what it is that Bass and her share.

(She vaguely registers that Bass has already met _her_ mother, but given the circumstances under which that happened, in addition to her utter dissatisfaction at the occurrence, she decides that it doesn’t count.)

In the end, of course, she yields, but not before setting some ground rules first. She picks the place — the _Sandpiper_ , naturally — and makes him promise that certain subjects such as their relationship or her life beyond Jasper will not be touched, by either him or Miles. In turn, she vows not to be a total bitch, although Bass doesn’t seem to have much faith in her in that aspect.

They saunter in the bar around ten thirty, all dragging feet and manly laughs. Jo has to look twice to make sure it’s Bass she’s seeing, because she’s not used to this giddy side of Bass. Not to say that he’s a grump, but even though he gives out smiles and grins without second thought, he is mostly the brooding type. He doesn’t talk if he can help it, and he is mostly content with just sitting in a corner, keeping to himself. To see him causing a ruckus with his buddy causes her to reconsider her opinion about him.

The two men take a seat at the bar and Bass introduces Miles to her when she brings them two beers. Offhandedly, Jo finds Miles particularly interesting. He’s easy on the eyes, has a particular sense of humor and exudes a certain kind of charm. Despite her initial hesitation, she finds that Miles is the kind of person who doesn’t allow awkwardness to take residence in a party. The three of them chat and joke like old friends, and Jo doesn’t once feel like the third wheel. It’s a striking opposite to the time she spent with the Winchesters. Sam had tried his best to include her in whatever conversation they were having most of the time, but Dean was being his usual prissy self and ruining his brother’s earnest efforts.

Bass and Miles stick around until her shift ends, exchanging war stories and letting her in on tales from their childhood and their life in Jasper. She has never seen Bass laugh as much as he does that night, and she feels some weird kind of gratitude towards Miles for that. Bass had given out a lot about himself That Night. Enough for Jo to start wondering what exactly had happened to shape him into the person he was today. The possibility that his past was just as fucked up as hers scared her for a reason she couldn’t comprehend. And seeing that someone — Miles — had the power to relieve him of the tension that always seemed to hang on his shoulders relaxed her.

Jo is not particularly gifted when it comes to character judging — can’t even pretend to be, after what happened in Duluth — but after the night is through, she has enough material to draw one or two conclusions about Miles and his relationship with Bass.

She likes Miles, she really does. And she’s glad that Bass has a friend he feels that close to, because she grew up mostly alone, and the only person she had who was even remotely close to a brother and a friend — her funny, annoying, awesome Ash — was taken away from her in the worst way possible. But Jo can see beneath the surface, too. She can see how smitten Bass is with Miles, how he hangs from every word he says, trusting him to always be there. Bass would go through the very gates of Hell, if Miles asked him to. He would do anything for Miles, he would hurt anyone who dared hurt Miles.

Jo can see all this in their gestures and the way they share a drink; in their easy laughs and bumping shoulders. Because she has seen this before. She has seen this suffocating, co-depending relationship on the Winchesters and it freaking sucks. It sucks because Miles loves Bass but he’s not leeching on him, whereas Bass clings on Miles like a lifeline, not willing to imagine a world where Miles is not standing by his side.

Jo can see all this because she’s been trained to do so her entire life. A lifetime spent in bars has taught her how to study people, to draw information from their slightest gesture, from their most random statements. And it’s with a heavy heart that she comes to the conclusion that Miles is the Sam to Bass’ Dean. And she really hates to associate Bass with _that_ part of her life, because Dean’s behavior is anything but healthy and it has the tendency to hurt everyone around him.

Involuntarily, Jo feels sorry for Bass. Not because he’s clinging on to Miles, but because he feels the need to latch onto something in general. She’s pretty sure that the things he’s seen have left him with no other choice, but her feelings remain the same. People like Bass ( _and Dean_ , she thinks with a scowl), people who hold on to others in order to make it through the day, they are dangerous people. They are rabid dogs that have to be leashed at all times, lest they would destroy everything in their passage.

Jo doesn’t like thinking of Bass as a rabid dog in need of a leash. She doesn’t like the idea that losing Miles might shake him so hard he’ll go nuts. Because he’s a good guy and he doesn’t deserve living in fear that his life could crumble down suddenly at any given moment.

That’s why she leaves a tender kiss on his lips that night, trying to somehow convey a message to him. That even though she’s not quite there herself—that even though she’s still hurting from whatever Dean has left her with, he can depend on her when everything else goes to hell. Jo’s not one to make such promises, mainly because her own life is something that could slip from her fingers at any given moment, but she feels that Bass needs it. This reassurance that Miles is not the only one anchoring him to reality.

And when Bass reciprocates her gesture just as tenderly, not taking any more than she’s willing to give, Jo thinks that maybe she needs an anchor too, from time to time, and that maybe—maybe he can be hers.


	15. the perks of being young

Entering a relationship with Bass is truly one of the most peculiar things Jo has ever done in her life. She was always used to quick, heated encounters in the back beat-up cars, casual flings that died out after a few days and, of course, unrequited crushes that haunted her for years.

( _Fuck you, Dean._ )

Being in a relationship with a person that is willing to stick around in the morning after and is content with just spending time with you is totally new to her. A few weeks pass after meeting Miles and they’re still taking baby steps with each other, testing the waters and being mindful not to cross any invisible line that might threaten to disturb the balance they’re struggling to establish.

They don’t sleep together; Bass is still battling with his personal demons, a remnant of his time in Iraq, and Jo is very tentative around the whole trust thing. Her unrequited feelings towards Dean, combined with his complete disregard towards her make her wary of any kind of emotional approach. Physical contact with actual emotional ground is an uncommon occurrence for her. But Bass doesn't pressure her, he never has, and it's as hard for him as it is for her.

Their displays of affection only extend to making out in random corners and groping each other shamelessly when they’ve had a few more drinks in them. Jo doesn’t let herself go completely, and she suspects that Bass doesn’t either.

"We'll take it slow," he says one day over coffee and Jo doesn't really know what to make of it because aside from That Night, they never really talk about what it is they have. Instead, they talk about everything else. About the things that make them go mad, what they love the most, and where they’d want to go most in the world. They take their time to explore each other in the way they never had the chance to with anyone else.

They are in the midst of this exploration when Bass drives them to his sister’s school one evening in his beat-up Ford. Cynthia is just wrapping up her soccer practice when the two of them arrive outside the school grounds, with Jo bitching all the while that she doesn’t need to meet his family. Bass mostly ignores her, perking up when his sister jogs up to them, her backpack hanging off one shoulder lazily as she reaches up to give him a hug.

“So,” Cynthia drawls when Bass introduces them, giving Jo an eye-over that brings a scowl to her face. “You’re the one who’s got Bass’ boxers in a twist.”

And when Jo is about to start fuming (because, really, that’s what she _does_ ), Cynthia punches Bass lightly on his arm and whistles, “ _Nice_ , man.”

And that’s when Jo decides that she loves Cynthia. Bass takes them to a pub, where they drink and chat for hours and hours on end. And as the minutes tick by, Jo finds herself engrossed in Cynthia. She's bright and bubbly and sarcastic and everything Jo is and isn’t and she freaking loves it. She’s only seventeen and yet she has a view of the world that Jo wishes she did when she was her age. She has long ginger hair and the most striking blue eyes she has ever seen, on top of a round and beautiful face. Cynthia is truly a sight that has Jo magnetized. They knock back tequila shots and Jo sees Bass from the corner of her eye, watching them with a smile that says he could get used to this.

“She wants to be a journalist,” Bass says at some point during the night, wearing a mocking grin, but underneath it Jo can tell that he would be proud of anything his little sister did.

Cynthia snorts and takes a long drink from her fourth beer like a pro. Yet another reason to adore her—the kid ain’t no fucking lightweight. “Geez, I’m _right here_.”

“Hey, it’s good to have goals,” Jo interludes in defense of whom she’s already starting to consider as her own sister. “You’re lucky to know what you wanna do with your life. Most people your age don’t have a clue.”

The younger girl shots Bass a victorious look before turning back to Jo. “What about you? Is _this_ your dream? Working at bars and living in backwater towns with idiots like him?”

Bass looks offended and Jo laughs. “Not really. But I tried the college thing and—it wasn’t for me. I was outta there like a bat outta Hell.”

“How can college _not_ be your thing?” Cynthia asks incredulously and Jo has to hand it to her. She doesn’t take bullshit from anyone. “It’s education—it’s _free will_. There are hundreds of options to choose from, you can’t have rejected them all.”

“I didn’t,” Jo replies nonchalantly, because frankly the subject bores her. She’s already had that conversation one times too many with about a dozen different people. “But I guess I was too much of a freak for them.”

Cynthia whistles slowly. “I hear you, sister. My boyfriend’s going to Stanford next year and they gave him Hell at the reception because he’s a tattoo freak.”

“Your _what_ now?” Bass quips in and Jo can’t help but laugh at the big brother act that he has activated in a matter of seconds. She’s also kind of glad for the change in subject.

“Oh, so you’re allowed to have a girlfriend,” she gestures towards Jo offhandedly, “but I’m not? Why’s that?”

“Well, you’re seventeen, for starters.”

“Bass,” Jo cuts in, throwing him a look that says he’s exaggerating. “She’s old enough to make her own choices in that matter.”

“Really? At what age did _you_ first get a boyfriend?” he asks and Jo raises an eyebrow because she’s sure he’s been dying to ask her something of the sort for days. That little shit.

“You really wanna know?” she challenges him bluntly.

He leans over the table so that he’s almost in her face, and she vaguely registers that Cynthia has leaned back in her chair and is watching them with genuine interest. “Yeah, I do.”

“I was fourteen,” she says with a smirk and watches in delight as Bass chokes on his spit, while Cynthia grins slyly and high-fives her.

“I like her,” Cynthia declares to her brother and Jo finds herself laughing and thinking that she might actually have to adopt the rambunctious little ginger.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, and as they drink and laugh, their knees bump under the table and an electric shock runs through Jo’s spine. It might be the inebriation, but Bass' eyes linger more than usual on her, and he makes an effort of touching her fingers when he passes her a beer or a shot.

She sees Bass under a different light that night. She sees him as a man for the first time. And man, isn't _that_ a sight. With his leather jacket and dark jeans, his alluring eyes and intoxicating smell. She feels almost tempted to slip her hand up his thigh. She likes being drunk, because then she doesn't have to think about consequences and repercussions and Dean. And she finds that really likes being drunk with Bass—or just in Bass' presence. It’s hard to focus on semantics when he’s looking at her like that.

Cynthia observes them closely throughout the night, studying their interactions, and Jo reckons that she must like what she finds, because when they walk her back to the Monroe house, she makes no move to call Bass inside. Instead, she gives Jo a sisterly hug and spares Bass a wink that suggests she knows something they don’t, and shuts the door to their faces.

On their part, they are unfazed. The two of them find their way to Jo's apartment, stumbling drunkenly and laughing like fools all the way. They end up making out on her couch like teenagers hiding from their parents for a long time, but they're both too drunk to keep track. And on Jo’s part, she doesn’t really care to either.

"I like you," Bass whispers against her lips, his ragged breath echoing inside the dark room.

"I know," Jo replies with a chuckle, dragging her lips against his throat as he purrs. She drunkenly thinks that she could get used to the sound of that.

"No. I really, _really_ like you," Bass repeats, pulling back to look into her eyes, even though he can't quite see straight.

Jo smiles, not really able to see anything other than the outline of his face, and places a hand on his chest. "I know that, too."

She falls asleep in her jacket and boots, tucked safely under Bass' arm. She falls asleep to the smell of whiskey and leather, and she silently thanks her inebriation for not allowing her mind to drift to another man who usually wears the same scent combination. She falls asleep to the warmth of Bass’ side against hers and it’s the first time in months that her sleep is completely undisturbed.

When the early morning finds them, she registers their odd position on the small couch and the numbness in her right arm for a brief moment, before submitting back to sleep, pressing herself even closer to Bass’ body. A feeling with no name flutters in her chest, but she crushes it before it can take root.

She’s too hangover to be dealing with this shit.


	16. fourteen carat mornings

Jo steps into the shower and feels the water immediately work wonders on her slightly dizzy brain. It has been a long time since she’s had that much to drink — not that she can recall exactly how much alcohol they consumed last night — and she fears that she might be losing the tolerance she’s been building all these years.

It’s a miracle that her shift doesn’t start until ten. When she woke up, her body had felt heavy, numb, and so very hot. She had blamed it all on Bass and on the fact that they had both slept in her uncomfortable tiny couch the night before with all their clothes, plus their jackets, on. So she had decided that a cold shower would be the best course of action in order to wake up her drowsy muscles and relieve her of the knots on her back.

Her mind races while she’s under the showerhead. She grins when she recalls Bass wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walked back to her apartment, his ragged breath as they kissed breathlessly on her couch. She might still be wary of him in the sense that she can’t really bring herself to trust him completely, but she’d be damned if she didn’t admit that the man could kiss. It has been a while since she’s had that much fun kissing someone and enjoying the reactions she draws from them. And Bass’ purrs and murmurs are definitely worth the extra effort.

She wraps herself in a towel and rushes to her bedroom, leaving the door open a fracture so that she can check on Bass, who’s still awkwardly lying on her couch.

"Holy shit. _Fuck_ ,” she hears Bass curse under his breath a few minutes later, not asleep anymore. “What the hell did we drink last night?”

Jo peeks from inside her bedroom, pausing in the process of zipping up her jeans to see him pressing a hand against his probably aching head. "I don't know _what_ we drank, but we definitely had too much of it.” On second thought though, “Tequila, probably."

He squints at her, before deciding that it's not worth the effort and shuts his eyes. "Why are you so perky?" It still seems to amaze him how, even though he's a man and a soldier and decidedly bigger than her, she can still outdrink him with fair ease.

She comes out fully dressed a few moments later, painkillers in one hand. "I'm a heavy drinker, remember? Plus, I'm kind of immune to hangovers by now. Here," she throws him the pills, which he fails to catch, and offers a snort. _Useless idiot_. "There's a set of keys on the counter; lock the door on your way out. I'm going to work."

"Sure," he says, not quite sure what he's agreeing to as he tries to pry open the box. "Any chance you can make me that shitshake before you go?"

Jo laughs at the mention of Ellen’s magic cure to hangovers, but she shakes her head. “Nah, I'm already late. Take a couple of those, drink a lot of water and sleep it off. That'll work."

"Right," he murmurs, taking off his jacket and making himself more comfortable in her couch. He brings one forearm to shield his eyes from whatever light might attempt to disturb them, so he misses the smile she throws his way. How the hell he manages to fit in that tiny couch of hers, let alone both of them, will remain one of humanity’s unsolved mysteries.

Jo leaves then, clicking the door softly behind her and jogging all the way to the diner. She tries not to think about the fact that Bass has managed to make her trust him enough to leave him in her personal space alone.

Oddly enough, it doesn't bother her as much as it should.

Her shift that day is a tragedy. The customers all seem to have chosen this exact day to be assholes, Darcy is being even more bubbly than usual, and the register doesn’t seem to cooperate with her. All in all, she counts the minutes until she can go home.

She will never admit it but she is kind of wishing that Bass will still be at her place when she walks back home a few hours later. Maybe he overslept; maybe he just wanted to wait for her. She finds herself wishing for it so fervently that she begins to wonder what that might mean for her, for them. They’ve already crossed many lines Jo never thought she would — at least not so soon after Dean — but they were mostly steps taken from Bass, not her. It’s weird to finally feel like contributing to this relationship herself; it feels weird to accept that there _is_ a relationship to contribute to.

As expected, however, Bass isn't there. The front door is locked and there's a note tapped to her fridge.

_'Had to run some errands for my mother. Thanks for last night. There's food in the fridge.'_

And she doesn't know if she's surprised that he wasted time to make her some pasta when he was nursing a major hangover or simply used to it by now. Because that's so like Bass.

He’s still an idiot for feeling that he has to _thank_ her for last night, though.

Jo spends the rest of the afternoon munching on the food Bass left her — and if he made it himself, then he has a very promising future of cooking her munchies ahead of him — and looking over a case she’s found in Lafayette. She’s not normally taking cases in large cities, a remnant of her first hunt with the Winchesters in Philly, but business has been drying up lately and she’s feeling a little rusty.

The sun dives into the horizon and Bass doesn’t show up. Which is rather strange, because he’s been hanging out at her apartment every single day for the past few weeks. It’s the first time Jo decides to be the one to seek him out. And it comes as a surprise to her when she realizes that she doesn't have the slightest clue as to where he is or what he does when he's not stalking or hanging out with her. It also evokes a strange feeling in her guts that sometimes it feels like she doesn’t know him at all.

However, Jo’s nothing if not a good hunter, and therefore a good tracker, so after half an hour’s effort, she finds him in the eastern part of the city, carrying a box full of vinyls to Miles’ place. He raises an eyebrow when he sees her, but she notices the half-assed smile he tries to hide behind his otherwise nonchalant expression. She helps him out and the two of them end up at her apartment once again, eating Chinese from paper cartons and watching the Dallas Cowboys get their asses kicked by the Giants.

"So, how old are you exactly?" she asks him halfway through the game, slumped in her ugly armchair and rubbing her belly. Chinese made her stomach feel like a bloated balloon more often than not.

"Well, I was born in '83, so that makes me twenty-five,” Bass answers and it’s clear that he’s not into the game either. “Why?"

Jo shrugs. It’s a question she’s been mulling over for quite some time but somehow always forgot to ask him. "Just wondering. You've got quite the age difference with Cynthia."

"Yeah, my mom had me when she was sixteen. My dad was twenty and they struggled a lot to raise me. They put off having another kid for a long time, trying to get settled down and all. And nine years later, there she came."

She's kinda freaked out by the idea of having two children at the age of twenty-five, but manages to mask it. Honestly, if she had seen through Ellen’s plans for her, she doesn’t doubt that she would have had a brat or two of her own by now. "What about Angela?"

"She's three years younger than Cynth.” He chuckles, and Jo’s interest picks up. “They’re like day and night, you know. Angie’s quieter, more reserved than Cynth. She just sits in her room all day, reading stuff. I swear, I've never seen a kid read so much. She must have read those Harry Potter books a hundred times."

Jo gives a nod that says she sympathizes with the poor girl. "Well, they're pretty good."

"You, too?" he groans, earning a curt laugh from her.

"Hey, I was like twelve when the first one came out. And then I kinda stuck to it. Still haven't gotten a copy of the last one though. I heard it came out a couple of months ago."

"Angie has it,” Bass offers her the solution quickly. “She'd let you borrow it."

"She will? She doesn't even know me, Bass. And if what you say is true, then she must be very protective of those books." At least _she_ was, back in puberty. Being territorial had been sort of a hobby. Anything to get on Ellen’s nerves, really.

Bass shrugs and chugs down the last of his beer. "She is. But Cynth has brainwashed her into liking you."

Jo raises an eyebrow. "And you haven't?"

He laughs. "Maybe a little."

Bass spends that night in her place as well. Only this time, she offers him the bed and almost fights him for it. Ever the gentleman, he insists that she shouldn’t sleep in the couch. He only cuts it out when she’s had enough and shuts him up with a kiss before ordering him to _stop being such a dumbass and_ _go to sleep already_.

Jo stays up late that night for what feels like the thousandth time as of late. She goes through all the things she’s been doing with Bass, all those stupid, unimportant, little things that she always wished she would one day get to do with Dean. Which is stupid on its own, because she would never do all these things with Dean. Because Dean didn’t come with an offering of a normal life — and even though she didn’t _want_ one, Bass had somehow managed to show her a side of this apple-pie life that wasn’t so bad.

Being with Dean would have been a lot different and lot less easy. Because she wouldn’t know how to handle it. She would have fallen headfirst into the pile of shit that is Dean Winchester and that would have been the end of her. But a small, traitorous part of her whispers that it would have been a sweet death.

She lets Bass’ slight snoring from the other room lull her to sleep, all the while cursing herself for never being able to be content with what she has. As luck would have it, Dean has been carved so deeply into her skin that it’s impossible to cast him off. She just hopes that there will come a time when she can change it.


	17. a symposium on nasty habits

In mid-2008, and when everything seems to be going well for once in Jo’s life, Dean stumbles upon the _Sandpiper_.

At least, that's what he tells her. In reality, Jo is pretty damn sure that a certain mother of hers has spilled the beans of her whereabouts to the eldest Winchester with little remorse. For all her warnings to steer clear of the Winchester boys, Ellen sure seems to think that they ought to catch up every once in a while, in honor of their fathers’ former friendship and whatnot.

The long-delayed and not-really-that-anticipated meeting doesn't go nearly as expected. No voices are raised, no bottles are broken and only a minimum of bitter words are exchanged. Yet there is something about Dean that unnerves Jo; it gnaws at her heart and it’s freaking her out.

(Everyone directly involved still refuses to tell her about The Deal.)

He looks tired. He looks more exhausted than Jo has ever seen him look. There are prominent lines by his eyes, lines that make him look a decade older than he actually is. He walks dragging his feet against the worn-out floor and seats himself wearily. She sees his fingertips shake sometimes when he’s reaching for his beer and his eyes look haunted.

Dean’s face is a mirror of about every veteran hunter’s face that she has ever come across, but it’s a look that she would have never associated with Dean, not in a thousand years. It’s a look that makes her insides churn and her breath hitch and it fucking sucks. She hates that his presence still affects her so much.

Because there's Bass now, and while she has yet to decide what place exactly he fits into in her little fishbowl of a life, Dean has lost the right of having such power over her. Jo curses her traitorous heart for never working in co-operation with the rest of her senses.

_“You’ve got it good here, Jo.”_

_“I built it, Dean. I’ve done my fair share of hard work and sacrifices. Nothing was given to me.”_

_“It never is.”_

(She won’t understand the true meaning behind his words until many months later, when it will already be too late to do anything to change the destiny that’s been scripted for him.)

Dean crawls out of her workplace by the time Bass walks in, with no pleasantries and no excuses thrown her way, just a typical Winchester exit that leaves her with the almost-taste that he will be back one day. He mutters a hurried 'sorry' when he bumps on the other man's shoulder on his way out.

Jo can't feel anything but eternal gratitude for his impeccable timing. A meeting between Bass and Dean is the last thing she would ever wish on herself.

Bass spends the night perched on a stool next to Miles, laughing and talking and both of them being the bane of her existence while she works, but they help her close up when the last of the customers leave, so there's always that. They always pretend they lost the track of time as an excuse to stay until closing so she can slip them a few shots free of charge.

Miles excuses himself as soon as the door behind them is locked, and Jo doesn't need to ask Bass to know that he's going to be meeting with Rachel later on. She doesn't exactly approve of whatever affair the two of them are having. Rachel is Ben's wife, and if screwing around with a married woman wasn't bad enough already, Ben also happens to be Miles' brother. Bass says it’s been that way for so long that he can’t even remember when it began anymore. It's wrong and stupid and it has a ninety percent chance of blowing up in their faces, but it's also none of her business, so Jo doesn't comment on it.

She has never been an expert on relationships anyway, if the unstable Winchester that walked through the door a few hours earlier is any indication.

They bid Miles goodnight and they’re just starting to make their way towards her apartment when Jo catches a familiar vehicle with the corner of her eye and lets an annoyed frown slip on her face.

Goddamn Winchesters and their goddamn big heads that think she's not capable of taking care of herself. Goddamn Ellen for planting the seed of said thought into their heads. Basically goddamn _everything_ for fucking being against her.

However, even when the whole universe sets out to get her, Jo Harvelle is still a minx, and she wants to strike Dean Winchester where it hurts the most. And for Dean, that is having the complete control over everything.

Well, he doesn't. Not over her, not anymore.

With epic flourish, she grabs the collar of Bass' jacket and presses herself up against him as her lips find his own with practiced ease.

Bass is rather surprised of her unusual display of affection in a public place, but he has never been the one to question anything about her — one of the perks of having him head over heels for her — so all he does is reciprocate the gesture with equal fervor.

Jo has a mini-battle with herself while Bass is running his tongue over her teeth, wondering if she's already a nine on a scale of one to ten about being a bad person. Because she's using Bass to get on Dean's nerves and that's so goddamn wrong.

She's already disapproved of Miles’ screwing around with Rachel, but isn't she kinda doing the same thing with Bass and Dean? Even though Dean was never really hers to screw with, what she's doing at the moment is clearly a bad thing, because it's not exactly Dean's fault that he doesn't feel attracted to her. And she's only starting to realize this now—how her rejecting Bass at first is a perfect parallel to Dean's rejection of her.

But Jo doesn't have the time to ponder on anything or take any action because as soon as Bass detaches his mouth from hers, the Impala is already storming down the street, her tires screeching against the concrete. She buries her face in Bass' chest and breathes loudly, because she's a fucking screw up that's trying to make a patchwork out of her life when she knows that she can't knit for shit.

She won't tell Bass of the incident with Dean that day until after The Deal is through and The Year is up and she will be calling her mother with a choked voice, only to have Ellen confirm Dean's death at the claws of a hellhound.

Maybe Bass will understand, and maybe he won't. But for Dean, Jo knows that was the turning point. There's nothing left for them to pick up anymore, if there ever was.

This is their closure.


	18. still in love with judas

“Come on up,” she says when they reach her building, surprising not only Bass, but herself as well. But she’s angry and tired of taking baby steps because Dean didn’t have the courtesy to give her a fucking call and somehow managed to fuck her up irrevocably.

When she put on that show for Dean before, she knew that she didn’t mean it. It wasn’t over between them. Frankly, she doesn’t think that they ever will be through with each other. But it’s important that Dean believes so, even if it’s only him. Even if she’s never going to get over him and let someone else take his place. Even if there will always be a part inside her that is all Dean.

Because there’s a small, naïve part of her that hopes that if Dean doesn’t know how hung up she is on him, then maybe he can’t hurt her.

And there’s another part, too. A different, an expanding part of her that’s all Bass.

It’s that specific part that makes her tug Bass into her apartment and tap the door shut behind them mere moments later. Jo leans against the wooden surface for a decidedly long moment, taking in Bass’ figure as he stands in arms’ length in front of her in the darkness of the apartment.

He truly is a sight. With disheveled sandy curls and wide blue eyes, his washed up jeans and close-fitting t-shirt, with his soft leather jacket and deep hazy gaze. Jo’s always thought he was handsome, but there is something in particular that he’s emitting right now that makes him absolutely gorgeous and incredibly sexy. She licks her lips in appreciation, and maybe slight anticipation, as her eyes rake over his physique.

Bass stands still, watching her as she watches him, allowing them both this silent moment to embrace what is happening and what it will possibly lead them to. Their arrhythmic breathing is the only sound filling the apartment as they stand within touching distance. They can see the gears of each others’ minds turning, spinning over the possibilities and the risks they are about to take.

Jo makes a step forward abruptly, deciding that she’s had enough of pining for men long gone and unappreciative jackasses. Bass deserves this — he has _earned_ it.

They both have.

Her hand falls on the juncture between his neck and shoulder as Jo reaches up and seals her lips over his. And when Bass sighs in content against her mouth and his arms snake around her waist to pull her even closer to his body, it feels a lot like absolution.

They waste no time in ridding each other of their clothes, but whereas Jo’s moves are hectic, frenzied even, Bass pries her clothing away with delicate brushes, giving their foray a sensual hue that she’s not sure she’s ready for.

He drags his lips over her pulse, the tops of her breasts, the lobe of her ear. Bass is everywhere at once. He assaults all of her senses like a tornado. And she knows that it shouldn’t make her feel like this — sex with _Bass_ shouldn’t make her feel like she’s on fire. Because it’s just physical, it’s just _sex_ , and she’s done it dozens of times before so this one in particular should not feel like _this_.

But it does. It does and it scares the shit out of her because it’s not supposed to go like this. She’s not supposed to _maybe_ develop feelings that go beyond physical attraction because the last time she was stupid enough to allow such a thing, she ended up in freaking Jasper with her heart in her throat.

But—oh, _God._ Bass’ skin is against hers and that feeling alone is erasing everything else. His mouth is against her throat, his hands around her back, his scent on the tip of her tongue. And Jo finds that she doesn’t care. She needs this. She needs to feel him next to her, against her—inside her. She needs what she has been so fervently denying herself all this time, because she’s twenty-three and horny and heartbroken and her body is _aching_.

So, she pushes Bass against her bedroom door, her hand snaking inside his jeans and the catch of his breath is music in her ears.

Jo loses track of time as they explore what has long remained uncharted. She shuts her thoughts off and lets her body experience Bass in the fullest. She loses herself in his touch, his kisses, the sounds he makes when she presses against him. He is everywhere and he is everything and she feels so amazing that she thinks she will die.

That is, until her back hits the mattress, and suddenly the whole world seems to be making a one-eighty, and she can't see Bass' face hovering above hers anymore. All she sees and all she can think of is Dean.

Dean with his wide eyes that show her the world as she's never seen it before; Dean with the soul that is slowly dying inside his young body; Dean with his daddy issues and his commitment issues and just—Dean, Dean, _Dean_. Everything around her is Dean, and so she squishes her face against Bass' shoulder, her body wrapped around his like a vine, her mouth shut like a trap-door, not trusting herself to let out any sound or word lest it would be _Dean_.

For the first time in her life, Jo hates herself. Not in the way that one usually does when they realize they've taken a wrong turn in their lives or made a wrong decision. She hates herself the way she hates John Winchester for getting her dad killed. She feels so disgusted for all the things she thinks and feels, because she clearly doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to fix her life because that can only mean dragging other people down with her and that is _so_ _not fair._

Bass moves inside her and Jo’s breath hitches. She moves with him, an empty doll beneath a body that feels so alive under her fingertips. Jo curses herself for pretending, for not throwing him off of her and curling in a corner in shame. Bass does not deserve this—he deserves truth and honesty and so much more than what she can offer.

When it’s over, Bass presses a kiss against her shoulder and they both retreat to their respective sides of the bed. There is no touching, no words exchanged. Jo can hear Bass’ content breathing and while it should feel like a balm, it doesn’t. Because while Bass is assaulting all of her senses, her traitorous heart is still pounding like a sledgehammer for the fucking Winchester who will never be hers.

She remembers her mother and everything she ever said about John Winchester’s sons and how toxic they are. She remembers Sam’s possessed form grazing her forehead with a blade and telling her that Dean will never see her that way. She remembers Dean’s hollow promise that didn’t even sound solid when it left his lips. She remembers everything that has happened to her ever since she left Duluth and how good things are for the very _first_ time in her life and she curses herself because she’s so fucked up that she can’t even take a good thing when it’s being offered to her open-handedly.

She remembers _The Mountain Goats_ and how fucking right they are — there’s bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet, no matter where you live.

Jo shuts her eyes and wills herself not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the great song "Up the Wolves" by The Mountain Goats. If you caught the reference, you're awesome.


	19. pretty little liars

The morning after finds Jo alone in her bed, with a note in the nightstand that reads, _Miles is in town, had to run. Sorry. See you later._

That makes her feel about a hundred times worse that she already does. Bass shouldn’t have to apologize to her for anything, especially after the stunt she pulled last night. But, alas, she had to get herself involved with the most righteous man in the country, which in turn makes her the worst person to ever walk upon the Earth for treating him the way she did.

She takes a day off from the diner and borrows Darcy’s car for a drive out of town.

There’s a lot to think about, she decides as she drives past the town border. If the previous night was any indication, her heart is still stuck on a very undeserving and unappreciative Winchester jerk. That doesn’t really surprise Jo; she’s known what deep shit she’s into for quite some time now. What she wasn’t expecting though, was that Dean would have the audacity to slip into her mind when she was having sex with another man. A man she cares about, even if the exact direction of those feelings is still unclear.

However, the more she drives around, the less she actually manages to sort anything out. She drives back to Jasper with a heart heavier than a stone and a frown tattooed on her face. She returns Darcy’s car, leaving a bag of M&Ms in the glove box as a _thank you_.

She doesn’t go home though. No, that is too risky. Bass still has the keys to her apartment and if his thing with Miles is over, then that’s predominantly where he will be. And she’s not quite ready to see him yet, when everything has yet to be sorted out in her head.

Instead, she texts Cynthia, seeking refuge at the Monroes’. Bass once told her that he seldom spends time at his parents’ house anymore. Miles’ apartment has two bedrooms, one of which Bass has claimed as his own a very long time ago. So, he’s either hanging out there or at her place most of the time, going home only for dinner a few times a week.

That afternoon, Jo also learns that Cynthia and Angie are mostly alone on the evenings in general, seeing as their parents are usually at their neighbors’, playing cards and having coffee and whatnot. And given that Angie spends most of her time holed up in her room, glued to her books, as Bass puts it, Jo’s visit remains incognito.

She tucks herself away on Cynthia’s bed, her laptop balanced on her knees as she watches _The Return of the King_ with her headphones on. There’s little that can make her feel better when she’s feeling like shit, and Peter Jackson’s trilogy is always a great remedy. Cynthia is five feet away, throwing her worried glances from time to time (it’s not usual for Jo to be all quiet and curled up, after all) as she scribbles down her math homework, all the while mumbling about how math sucks.

"Did you guys have sex?" Cynthia asks out of the blue at some point because she’s had just about enough of the silent treatment.

"How do you—"

"The fact that _he_ thinks I'm a virgin doesn't mean I am one."

There’s not much for Jo to do but shrug. Bass’ head really is in the clouds where his little sister is concerned. "You've got a point."

"So?" Cynthia probes.

Jo shrugs again, trying to avoid the subject for as long as she can. "So what?"

"Don't fuck with me, Jo. You slept together, didn't you?"

"So what if we did?" she exclaims in exasperation, gritting her teeth because she’s just so angry at everything at this point and Legolas’ pretty face is not doing much to calm her down.

Cynthia pauses for a moment, before throwing her a sympathetic look. "That bad, huh?"

Jo shakes her head and taps the laptop shut. "You have no idea."

"Hm. And here I thought that we were gifted in that aspect as a family. I mean, our parents had three kids, you know? If they were that bad at it, I don't think they would've kept trying."

Jo runs a hand through her hair in frustration. She really doesn't need to be hearing this. "It wasn't him."

Cynthia looks surprised, if not shocked. " _You_? Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Girl, you're a _firecracker_. Don't tell me Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes got you all fumbling and shit."

Jo sighs in defeat and falls back against the cushions. "There's someone else," she says plain and simple, but she hates herself at the look that seeps in Cynthia's features.

"Wait, _what_? You like someone else and yet you still slept with my brother?" she asks, and it's phrased like an accusation. And it makes Jo feel like a horrible person. "What the _hell_ , Jo."

"It's not like that," Jo rushes to explain, although Cynthia doesn't seem to be listening.

"He really likes you, you know. And believe it or not, he's not naturally a ray of sunshine. He's gloomy and sad and so broken that couldn't even imagine. Before you came, I had to practically drag him out of the house. He spent days in the basement beating down a punching bag; he didn't even talk to us." She pauses to take a deep breath and stabilize herself. "I like you, Jo. You're like the best friend I never had, but if you don't like him—I mean, _really_ like him—then don't go messing around with him. He's already broken enough. He doesn't need a broken heart as a cherry on top."

Jo is momentarily at a loss. Because she didn't know all these things about Bass. She knew that he was scarred in his own way, but not like this.

And the last thing she wants—the last thing she _ever_ wanted, was to break him further. She's not a bad person. She's suffered enough of her own, she wouldn't dare inflict something like that to someone else.

"I like him," she tells Cynthia after a moment, when she thinks the younger woman is calm enough to listen to her. "He's giving me something I never had and I appreciate that more than you know. But there's something seriously fucked up with me. Something he doesn't know—something I don't want to tell him, because I know that it will hurt him."

"Then tell _me_ ," Cynthia implores.

And Jo does. She tells her about Dean and the Roadhouse, about Duluth and Sam, about the asshole whom she's still hung up on, even though he doesn't give a rat's ass about her, but has enough nerve to show up and mess up her new life. She tells Cynthia everything about her unfortunate love life and, by the end of it, she feels better than she ever has. She supposes that's what friends are for, after all.

"Whoa," Cynthia whistles and Jo notices it's something of a habit of hers. "You've really fucked up, man."

"Tell me about it."

"So—Dean. What are you gonna do about him?"

"There's not much I _can_ do, Cynth,” Jo exhales sadly. “It's like he's always there, in every step I take, trying to pull me back. And it fucking _sucks_ , because I've come a long way from then and I don't want to go back."

"Then don't. Look, I know I haven't the slightest clue about what you're going through, but you've got Bass. And I don't know if he can make you forget Dean, or maybe even replace him, but he's putting a lot of effort in this. He's been hurt, too, in his life. A _lot_. So, I don't know if you're the kind of fucked up people who can save each other, but if you think that you can't, then break it off. Break it off right now. Because he's getting attached and I don't want him getting hurt.”

Then the look in her eyes changes and Jo doesn’t know which scares her more. Cynthia’s words or the hope that’s reflected in them. “But if you believe that whatever you two have can mean something, then you gotta focus on that and forget about Dean. I know it's not easy. But for how long are you willing to let him control your life?"

“I don’t know,” she admits, shaking her head. “All I know is that he doesn’t love me. But the thing is, _I_ love me. And I don’t want to be stuck like this a moment longer.”

“Then you know what you gotta do.”

Jo looks down at her hands folded neatly on her lap. “You know what’s the dumbest thing about love? You open your heart to let someone in, and they tear you apart instead. And people say it’s the greatest feeling we’ll ever experience. I’ll fight each and every one of them."

Cynthia is quiet for a moment. "Do you want me to go kick his ass?"

Jo laughs heartily at that, mainly because she would actually _kill_ to see Dean Winchester getting his ass handed to him by a teenage girl. Which Cynthia could totally pull off.

"Yeah."

Cynthia smiles and drags her into a suffocating embrace then and Jo sighs in her friend’s arms. Maybe this is what it feels like to have a home at last.


	20. it's not always about you

The next day, Jo wakes up to an empty bed but a not-so-empty apartment. The moment she wakes up, her nose is attacked by the delicious smell of pancakes and she can hear someone meddling with her stove and pans in the kitchen.

Her hand instinctively reaches for her father’s knife that’s tucked under her pillow, but her brain shuts those instincts down when she registers the situation. If there was someone meaning her harm inside the apartment, they definitely wouldn’t bother cooking her breakfast first.

Leaving the knife behind, she gets out of bed and drags her feet to the kitchen in a shady mood. She is a little surprised to find Bass over her stove, fully dressed and casually flipping pancakes. If anything, she was expecting Cynthia or Darcy. Hell, even Ellen would have been a more probable option.

"Hey,” she says cautiously. It takes her a while to figure out how he got inside in the first place. Then she remembers that she never did ask for that key back. She hadn’t thought he would ever find the nerve to use it anyway.

"Morning. Have a seat—I made pancakes."

She sits on a stool by the counter, but doesn’t make a move towards the food. “Where were you yesterday?” she asks and immediately cringes at how awful it sounded. She doesn’t want to control him, doesn’t want to dictate his life, doesn’t want to _know_ every little thing he does _goddamnit._

Bass shrugs casually, like nothing’s wrong. Like nothing happened between them and nothing is _fucked up_. “Miles had some business out of town and I tagged along. You? Cynth said you stopped by.”

 _Stopped by_ is a very polite way for Cynthia to say _leeched off my supplies and my patience_ , Jo thinks. “Yeah, I… She needed some help with school.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. But Bass nods and doesn’t prod any further. Because if there is anything that his relationship with Jo has taught him is that you won’t be able to get anything out of her if she doesn’t want to tell you.

"I didn't know you could cook," she says after a long moment of silence. It feels like an invisible wall has come up in the two days since she has last seen him and she can’t help but think that she is the one who put it there in the first place.

"Yeah, well, I figured it was the least I could do to make up for the lousy laid the other night."

And just like that, the cat’s out of the bag.

Jo’s breath hitches. "Bass—"

"I know, I know. _It's not you, it's me_ , right? But if I can't make you like me even when we're having sex, then there's a high chance that it might actually _be_ me."

"I like you," she admits after a moment of decidedly not staring at the counter and avoiding his gaze.

"But not just me."

Her head shots up at that though because how can he be so observant? How can he see through the mask she has tried so hard to make impregnable? How can he slip through the cracks in her walls that she wasn’t even aware existed?

“What are you saying?” she manages to push out, and every word she says feels like a knife to her gut. She’s not okay. She’s not fair to herself or to others and it’s choking her.

Bass turns off the stove and places the last pancakes on the untouched plate before her. “You’re not the first person I’ve slept with, Jo. And you’re also not the first person who ditched me for someone else. It happens.”

 _No_ , she wants to yell. _No, it doesn’t happen and it shouldn’t happen and why is he taking it so well? Who managed to break him so much that he simply doesn’t care that I’m still hung up on the asshole who doesn’t deserve a sliver of a chance?_

“No,” Jo says, her voice strong for the first time that day. “I’m not ditching you for someone else. I’m not ditching you _at all._ ”

And she can tell that he wasn’t expecting to hear that because his shoulders shag like a great burden has been lifted from them and she knows it’s not a voluntary movement.

“And I don’t _like_ anybody else, I like _you_. It’s just…” She takes a deep breath at that. “I don’t have a good track record with relationships. The last guy I’ve allowed myself to care for… His name was Dean and he… He fucked me up, Bass. And I _let_ him.”

There. She’s said it. And suddenly, she wonders why it had been so hard to say it in the first place. Dean is not here, he’s never going to be, and there’s no reason that he should dictate her life anymore. There’s no reason she shouldn’t move forward because the future is _right there_ , staring at her through Bass’ beautiful blue eyes and she would be a fool not to reach out for it.

She covers the hand he’s resting on the counter with her own and looks up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m not what you need, that I may never be, but I _want_ this. I want to feel like somebody cares about me. I don’t want to keep feeling like shit because of him. I want to move forward, not be stuck in the past for the rest of my life.”

_I want you to help me forget him._

It might be the tone of her voice, or the actual words that do it, or it might even be _all him_ , but Bass interlocks their fingers and rubs his thumb over her knuckles and everything just _feels right_ for once.

“I want this, too,” he confesses, shy smile and all. “But I want to know that it’s over for you. That you won’t just wake up one day and think that this isn’t enough. I don’t need that pain, Jo. Never again.”

She wants to ask, she really does. She wants to know who had the audacity and the stomach to hurt this amazing man in front of her. Who thought that he was ever not enough? Who could ever be more than all he’s willing to give?

"So, I have to ask you. If Dean came and gave you a chance, would you take it?"

 _Always_ , she almost says, and she feels so dirty and so petty for knowing that it's true. Dean is a loop, everything about him is a loop, and she's helpless where he's concerned. She would give up everything for him; the only thing he had to do was ask.

But Bass is... _there_. He's there like Dean has never been and it would be unfair to give him up, because he _cares_ goddamn it. He cares and Dean doesn't, at least not in the way she wants him to, and so he deserves a chance. Like the shitload of them that she has given Dean.

"No," Jo finally lies, hoping that he won't see right through it. But Ash had taught her how to keep the ultimate poker face so Bass buys it. "Dean is an undeserving dick. He's already wasted his chances."

And she feels a pang of guilt in her chest when he smiles, because Bass is a nice guy, really. He's smart and charming and a lot nicer than the people she's been interacting with in her entire life. He's honest and a little withdrawn sometimes, but he's got the smile of a little child, a smile that makes her heart melt.

Bass is a good person who has faced his fair share of demons, and it makes her feel like shit, because she definitely doesn't deserve him. She’s a hunter, she’s cursed. She can't have a relationship like most people do, because relationships are based on mutual trust and honesty, and there's no way Bass will ever know of the things she does when she's off the clock. But she _wants_ this. And he makes it really hard for her not to.

She just needs time. Time to finally throw Dean off of her and start anew. Time to heal.

"Plural? That means I get a second chance if I screw up?" Bass teases, and just like that, the veil is lifted. They’re not two broken people anymore, they’re just two kids who want to go down that road hand-in-hand.

"You can dream of it," Jo spits back, only halfheartedly, before stuffing her face in the pancakes he made and Bass just smiles more widely. And it's so damn hard not to like him when all he's been doing is giving her reasons to do so.

Because he may not be Dean, he will _never_ be Dean, but he is _Bass_ and that fact alone is starting to matter a lot.

And it scares her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings us successfully to the middle of the story. However, updates will be far and few from here on, because I don't have anything ready at the moment. Thank you for your patience!


End file.
